Untitled

Why do you do that?
disfigured polka dots
on the back of my dress
ironed just yesterday
said Elizabeth,
the English professor,

in my head

Why do you do that?
uninvited guest
venting out furious & red
(on) the bleeding woman’s dress,
while she hops here and there,
dancing on nightingale and the frog

in my head

Why do you do that,
handful brats,
mumbling into each other’s ears,
(of) the bleeding woman’s dress,
while she stood strong in blood and cramps,
teaching you the sorry story of the singing bird,

all in my head.

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